


Cinnamon and Cloves

by EchoResonance



Category: Voltron: Legendary Defender
Genre: Alternate Universe - Tattoo Parlor, Fluff, M/M, Tattoos, Witch AU
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-09-21
Updated: 2016-09-24
Packaged: 2018-08-16 13:10:04
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 4
Words: 11,423
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/8103679
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/EchoResonance/pseuds/EchoResonance
Summary: Shiro has owned his herbal supply store for quite some time, and in recent months he's gained a new, mysterious regular. His employees Lance and Hunk haven't missed the way Shiro jumps when the man enters the store or the way his eyes follow him as he peruses the shelves. Oh, their boss is absolutely smitten. The problem is that he's entirely too nervous to do anything about it, and he doesn't even know the customer's name!





	1. Take Stock

****

“Some day you’re gonna have to ask him for his name, you know,” Hunk teased.

Shiro looked resolutely down at the bags of herbs in his hands and ignored the warmth in his cheeks. If they’d had this conversation once, they’d had it a dozen times, and it never got any less embarrassing than the first.

“Shiro, come on, man,” Hunk cajoled. “He comes in  _ every week _ . You’re totally gone on the guy, you might as well make a move.”

“Hunk,” Shiro groaned, knocking his forehead on the shelf in front of him. “I don’t know a thing about him, and making advances on someone while I’m working is so inap--”

“Hasn’t stopped Lance,” Hunk laughed. “And you still keep him around.”

“Yeah, well, we all make mistakes,” Shiro said wryly.

“And  _ yours _ consist of falling head over heels for a regular and never doing anything about it,” Hunk said. 

He would have come across as wise had he not punctuated the statement by leaning on the cash register and accidentally unlocking it so that the box jabbed him in the stomach as it opened. He yelped and rubbed the offended area, pouting at the register as if it was the one at fault.

“Look man, all I’m saying is that you should at least give it a try,” Hunk said at last. “Worst case scenario? He’s not interested, you go about your separate ways, but at least then you  _ know _ . Isn’t that better than sorting through shelves and driving yourself nuts thinking about him?”

Shiro sighed and carefully placed the remaining bags in their proper places before turning to face Hunk. His friend leaned against the counter, his broad build shadowing most of the display behind him and his thick arms folded on the glass surface. To an outsider he might have looked intimidating. However, his dark eyes were kind and Shiro knew better than most--though not so well as Lance--that there wasn’t a mean bone in his body. Whatever he said or did, he always meant well.

“Hunk, it’s really not that important,” Shiro said, running a hand over his hair. “He’s just--he’s just a customer, don’t look so much into it.”

Hunk raised a thick eyebrow at him, clearly unimpressed, but he didn’t say anything more on the subject. Relieved, Shiro began scanning the other shelves for low stock or misplaced items. It happened a lot. His supply store was fairly small and focused on herbs and spices and the like, though there was a limited flower section in one corner, and customers often mistook one herb for another. At least, Shiro liked to think it was a simple mistake, rather than the lot of them being too lazy to put a jar or packet back in its proper place.

“Oh, hey, look at the time,” Hunk said, breaking Shiro from his mental stock-taking. “I’ve gotta bounce, I, uh, have a date at...seven!”

Shiro frowned and glanced down at his watch. The digital read 15:57.

“Hunk, that’s not for another three hours. We’re closing in thirty--”

“It takes time to get all this presentable!” Hunk said, posing like Captain Morgan.

Shiro’s frown deepened as Hunk scrambled into the back room and emerged seconds later without his apron and holding his backpack. Despite his confusion, Shiro didn’t attempt to pull Hunk back.

“Hope you don’t mind taking care of this last customer for me!” Hunk said as he dashed out the front. “See you later!”

A sense of foreboding washed over Shiro and he was not surprised in the slightest when the door wasn’t given a chance to swing shut behind Hunk. A young man entered just as Shiro’s employee bolted, and Shiro felt his stomach lurch. The man was about average height, with a slender build and sharp features. His skin was the color of honey, his hair dark and cut unevenly so that it was shorter around his face and longer in the back, like a shaggy mullet, and his eyes were dark and almond-shaped.

Today he wore a burgundy short-sleeved t-shirt that stretched a little across his broad shoulders and his hands slid into the pockets of dark jeans tucked into ox blood combat boots. Usually he wore a jacket, but with the weather warming up Shiro supposed it made sense for him to forego it. His bare arms were well-muscled but lean rather than thick.

“Welcome,” Shiro greeted, hurrying behind the counter.

The man looked around at him and his full lips turned up in a small smile.

“Hey,” he greeted in a soft, rough voice.

He started his usual perusal of the shelves, picking something up on occasion and then setting it back--where it belonged, Shiro noted--before moving on. Sometimes he kept the jar or pouch as he browsed, slowly building his newest purchase.

“Big Man sure was in a hurry,” the man said after a moment. Shiro jumped.

“Who, Hunk?” he said, forcing a chuckle. “Said he had a date.”

“Figures,” the customer snorted. “He almost ran me over to get out of here. I thought you might’ve fired him.”

“I’d never fire Hunk,” Shiro denied at once. “He’s a great guy and a hard worker.”

“Yeah, I’ve noticed,” the other man said.

As he reached for something on a higher shelf, Shiro caught sight of a line of black on his forearm. Narrowing his eyes, he made out the impression of an arrow before the man retracted his arm and he lost sight of it.

“Is that a tattoo on your arm?” he asked.

The man jerked around toward him, almost losing his grip on the items in his hand, then looked down at his forearm. A ‘v’ appeared between his eyebrows and Shiro wondered if it was weird for him to comment on it, but just as quickly as it came the troubled look fell from the man’s features.

“Oh, yeah,” he said. “I figured you would’ve seen it before, but I guess I’m usually wearing a jacket.”

“Can I see?” Shiro asked, pointing.

The man hesitated, his dark eyes scrutinizing Shiro’s face. Apparently finding nothing distasteful, he approached the counter and sat his things on it. Then he held his arm out in front of him for Shiro to see, brushing away a few stray bits of leaf or twig.

“A compass?” Shiro questioned.

It was, though perhaps it was a bit more fancy than your average nautical equipment. The letters for each direction were done in intricate, flowing script and the compass itself, while maintaining the cardinal and ordinal directions, had a great many more ticks on it than eight. Surrounding it seemed to be the phases of the moon, with the full moon sitting at north and the new moon sitting at south.

“Yep,” the man answered, pulling his arm back.

“Were your parents sailors?” Shiro asked.

He’d known a few people with parents in the navy or else were marine biologists who had gotten similar tattoos before. The moon phases were new, but then the moon was often connected to the ocean.

“I wouldn’t know,” his client said with a shrug. “Never knew them.”

Shiro blinked. Then the apologies began. 

“Oh, I’m sorry, I didn’t mean--”

“Relax, it’s not a big deal,” said the man with a roll of his eyes.

“But I--”

“I told you, it’s fine,” the man said firmly. “Now are you gonna let me check out without apologizing my ears off or am I gonna have to come back when Big Man is working?”

Neck and ears burning, Shiro nodded mutely and began ringing up the man’s purchases, subconsciously making note of each item. Sage, eucalyptus, cedar chips, rosemary, as per usual; cloves, not as common for the man but not unfamiliar; violets, also uncommon. Once Shiro had asked him what he did with so many herbs every week, but he’d only shrugged his shoulders and mumbled something that sounded like “stuff.” So Shiro hadn’t asked again.

As he handed the bag of herbs to the man in exchange for a twenty and a ten, Hunk’s words came back to Shiro.

_ You’re totally gone on the guy, you might as well make a move. _

Shiro grit his teeth, handed his customer the change, and took a deep breath.

“Hey, I was thinking,” he started, mouth dry, but the man cut him off with a yelp of shock. His wide eyes were fixed on the watch on his unmarked wrist.

“Damn, I’m gonna be late to work!” he cried, hurriedly stuffing his change into his pockets and racing for the door. “Sorry, thanks again!”

“No problem…” Shiro sighed at the door as it swung shut.

He glanced down at his watch, noted that it was only ten minutes away from closing, and opted to shut down a little early.

* * *

 

“Man, if this guy doesn’t get how  _ awesome _ you are, he’s clearly not worth the trouble.”

“Lance…” Shiro sighed from his friend’s chair.

After his somewhat disappointing evening, Shiro had decided to pay his friend a visit and had gone to his house. Lance had been all too happy to invite him inside and offer to grab him a beer or some whiskey, but he’d politely settled for water. Now he sat in the armchair in Lance’s living room while the latter sprawled over the entirety of his own couch, long legs hanging over the end and one arm resting on the floor. Somehow he still managed to make it look comfortable, a feat Shiro wouldn’t have imagined possibly with his tall and lanky ass, but everyone had their talents.

“Come on, Shiro,” Lance said. “You’re not exactly the most subtle when you like someone, so either he’s the most oblivious asshole in the universe or he’s--”

“Not interested,” Shiro finished calmly. “It might interest you to know, but the majority of the population is, in fact, still straight Lance.”

At that his friend scoffed and waved away his words. 

“Oh please, numbers and statistics,” he said airily. “No one in their right  _ mind _ would find you unattractive.”

The fact that he was looking at Shiro upside-down took some of the solemnity from his words.

“You know, I feel like you’re trying to make me feel better, but it’s not really helping,” Shiro said with a slight smirk. Lance held his hands up in surrender.

“Hey man, I’m trying my best,” he said. Some of the mischief faded from his expression. “Seriously though, Shiro. You’re really hung up on this guy, and you don’t even know if  _ he _ knows you exist. You’ve gotta do  _ something _ .”

“I know, I know,” Shiro said wearily, running a hand over his tired face. “I just don’t know  _ what _ . He’s always so--I don’t know, Lance, I really don’t know.”

Lance gave him a long, searching look, then sighed and pushed himself into a more dignified sitting position. Shiro watched him cautiously.

“Alright, I say you take the day off tomorrow,” Lance said. “Me and Hunk can handle the store. You need some time to decompress and just  _ relax _ , and you’re not going to do that if you’re in the store where he keeps showing up--and yet somehow I still haven’t met him, by the way, don’t think I haven’t noticed that.”

Shiro’s lips curved and he took a drink of water to hide his grin. It was no accident that Lance was never working when the object of Shiro’s affections turned up. He knew as soon as the two of them met Lance would jump on that man’s case just because of Shiro’s infatuation, finding any excuse to hate the guy simply because Shiro was stressed out over him. So, like any sensible person, he scheduled Lance on days that the man had never come in and had Hunk work Thursdays and most weekends. The other man didn’t seem to mind, and he always let Shiro know well in advance if he wasn’t going to be free so that he had time to plan a day working solo.

“What am I going to do with an entire day off?” Shiro demanded.

He could take a run or go to the gym. That was how he normally spent his free time. However, those only took up a fraction of a full day, and his mind could wander during those, so he’d probably end up thinking about his mysterious not-really-a-stranger anyway.

“I dunno,” Lance said with a shrug. “Go get that tattoo you’ve been wanting! A whole day of nothing is a great time to get jabbed with inky needles.”

Shiro frowned at his explanation of tattoos, but he didn’t argue. Lance saw his hesitation and pounced.

“See? It’s perfect,” Lance said, puffing out his chest. “Hunk and I work tomorrow and you go get that ridiculous thing Allura drew for you.”

“It’s not ridiculous,” Shiro said at once.

“For a first time tattoo? Oh yeah it is,” Lance snorted. “That puppy’s  _ huge _ .”

“It’s not a puppy,” Shiro said.

“Oh I’m sorry, would you rather I said kitty?” Lance mocked.

Shiro rolled his eyes.

“Whatever you say,” he chuckled. Lance’s eyebrows arched.

“You waving the white flag?” he challenged.

“It doesn’t sound like I have much choice,” Shiro said dryly.

Lance jumped up and punched the air.

“Woo, yeah!” he crowed. “Lance just talked some prime sense into Shiro, today’s a--”

“You talked me into ditching work to get a tattoo,” Shiro interrupted. “I don’t think that’s sensible.”

Lance waved away his concern.

“I’m gonna go call in your appointment right now,” he said, and darted off with phone in hand before Shiro could splutter any sort of complaint.

“I don’t know what I would do if I was trapped in the same place as him for any extended period of time,” he grumbled to himself. “He’s like a twelve-year-old.”

Shaking his head, Shiro clambered to his feet and carried his empty water glass to the kitchen sink. When he returned to the living room Lance was pacing with his cell pressed to his ear.

“It’s a pretty big one,” he said. “The earlier you can get me in, the better, probably.”

Shiro could hear the other person’s voice, but he couldn’t distinguish actual words.

“Do it in parts?” Lance repeated for Shiro’s benefit.

Immediately Shiro shook his head, mouthing ‘no’ and gesturing emphatically with his arms. Lance seemed quite amused by his nonverbal communication, but gave him a thumbs-up and relayed Shiro’s answer.

“Alright, tomorrow at eleven,” Lance said with a grin. “Cool, I’ll be there.”

The person on the other end said something else.

“Oh, the name’s Shirogane,” Lance said.

With that, he hung up the call and crossed his arms over his chest, grinning cheekily.

“ _ You _ have an appointment to get inked up tomorrow at--”

“Eleven. I know. I heard,” Shiro chuckled.

Lance’s cheeks darkened a little and he coughed.

“Uh, yeah,” he said. “Well, if I’m gonna work tomorrow, I should probably turn in soon. I trust you can find the front door yourself?”

“Yes, I think so,” Shiro agreed.

“Well then, oh captain my captain,” Lance said, straightening up in a decent salute. “Goodnight.”

“Goodnight, cadet,” Shiro laughed.

He let himself out, feeling marginally lighter and maybe a little excited for tomorrow. He thought about the drawing Allura had given him, pinned up on the wall in his apartment, and how long he’d been wanting to get it as a tattoo. That was why Allura had originally drawn it for him, but that had been over a month ago, and he’d simply been too busy to make time for something like that.

He was glad he’d come to see Lance. He was a good friend and incredibly helpful when push came to shove, if not in the most conventional of ways.

Shiro strutted to his truck with a new spring in his step.


	2. Long Day

“Welcome to Altean Ink, what can we do for you today?”

The interior of the tattoo parlor was neat and tidy, the walls painted a clean off-white and the floor caramel-colored hardwood. A small waiting area at the front consisted of a gray sofa and several armchairs a shade darker situated around a low coffee table of glass and steel. Magazines of various types sat on the surface, some advertising revolutionary beauty routine tricks and others promising fool-proof workout strategies. The walls were decorated with colorful framed prints, mostly abstract, all colorful enough to cause a headache from prolonged exposure.

At the back stood two counters, one in each corner. A man stood behind the one on the left, leaning casually on his elbows and wearing a lazy grin. His bleached blonde hair was shaggy, partially hidden by a red beanie despite the fact that it was summer, and hung in his face. His right arm was tattooed with a full sleeve done predominantly in pale violet, left bare by the sleeveless shirt and vest he wore.

“I, ah, had an appointment for a tattoo?” Shiro said, reaching into his jacket to pull out the design. The man nodded and stood up straighter, though his shoulders remained slouched, and held out a hand that Shiro hesitated before shaking. However, the man didn’t react to his prosthetic in the least and continued to grin after they pulled away.

“You’re Shirogane, then?” he said. “Name’s Rolo. You’ll be with Keith when he finishes up the client he’s got now.”

“Just Shiro. Thanks,” Shiro said, bowing his head slightly.

“This your first?” Rolo asked.

“Yeah,” he said, scratching the back of his neck with his left hand.

“Well, let’s see it!”

Shiro handed him the folded sheet of paper and watched him open it up. The man’s eyebrows arched impressively and he blew a low whistle through pursed lips.

“How big are you looking?” he asked.

Shiro estimated, holding his hands roughly a foot apart and then gesturing toward his upper back. Rolo gave him a calculating look, eyes flicking from the picture to his shoulders, then nodded sagely and handed the paper back.

“You’re ambitious,” he said. “That’s bigger and more detailed than most people would want to do for their first time. You planning on getting that done in one go?”

“Ideally, yeah,” Shiro said, tucking the paper back into his jacket. “But, uh, I understand if it’s too big a job to do all at once.”

“Ha, no worries. I’ll tell you what, though, you’re lucky you’ve got Keith,” Rolo said. “He hates to do things in parts, even if most sane people would prefer it that way. If you say you want it all at once, he’s your guy.”

Relief flickered in Shiro’s heart. Part of the reason he wanted to do it all at once was because he  _ knew _ that it wasn’t going to be the most pleasant experience and he wanted to get it over with. If the tattoo artist in charge of him today was willing to do that, it was one less thing for him to worry about.

A door Shiro hadn’t noticed behind the counter creaked open and a voice floated through, accompanied by soft  _ clinks _ and muffled  _ thumps _ , presumably as equipment was put away.

“--eight weeks, try to avoid sun exposure, seawater, public pools, all that stuff,” the voice was saying. Shiro’s stomach flipped and any calm he’d managed to summon fled. “Keep it wrapped up as long as you can between cleaning and moisturizing, and if you have any problems come by or call and we’ll see what we can do.”

A young woman, probably late teens or early twenties, strutted from the back room sporting a forearm dressed in what appeared to be seran wrap. The bright blue dolphin on the inside of her wrist clashed magnificently with her glaring orange and yellow dress, but the tattoo itself was magnificently done; clean lines, careful balance of colors, subtle shading to add dimension. It reinforced Shiro’s relief that his tattoo artist was skilled, but it was small comfort when he remembered that familiar voice. He may not survive this endeavor.

“Sounds like he gave you the rundown?” Rolo checked with her.

“Yep!” she chirped, running a hand over her ash-blonde hair. She leaned over the counter conspiratorially and lowered her voice. “Think you could slip him my number?”

Rolo threw his head back and gave a bark of laughter.

“Hun, I could, but it wouldn’t do you any good,” he informed her, setting a sympathetic hand on her shoulder.

He waved the disappointed girl out of the shop, one elbow on the counter again and his square chin resting on the heel of his hand. Shiro chewed on the inside of his cheek, eyes flicking toward the open doorway. Rolo noticed his unease.

“Don’t worry, Keith’s the best we’ve got,” Rolo assured him. “He’s not the most friendly, but he’s not an ass either and he’s good at what he does.”

“Right…” Shiro mumbled. “Do I just…?”

“He’ll holler when--”

“Is my next one here?”

Shiro jumped and Rolo grinned.

“Yeah, he’s here!” he called. “And it’s his first, so he’s a little nervous. Go easy on him!”

“Right, I’ll make sure to repeatedly jab needles in him as gently as possible,” came the sardonic reply. “Send him in!”

At his words Shiro felt the blood drain from his face and he swallowed convulsively. Rolo made a sweeping gesture with one arm toward the doorway. Shiro bowed his head in acknowledgement and shuffled forward, feeling like the distance was immense and at the same time finding that he was at the doorway instantly. With a last look at the man at the counter--he winked and gave a thumbs-up--Shiro took a deep breath and stepped inside.

It didn’t feel as claustrophobic as he’d anticipated. It was a small room, one wall lined with shelves full of equipment and tubs of ink, and something like a dentist’s chair sat in the middle, all black with armrests. In an otherwise naked corner stood a small, rickety end table with a round terracotta saucer sitting on it. Something smoldered weakly on the plate. A couple of small boxes sat on the table as well, pressed back against the wall, labeled as different kinds of incense. The air smelled faintly of sage and rosemary.

“Does incense bother you?”

Shiro started and whipped around, feeling his heart leap into his throat as his eyes confirmed what he’d suspected since hearing the artist, Keith’s, voice. It was indeed the man that so often came to his shop. Lean frame, black t-shirt stretching across sharp shoulders, dark hair pulled back into a short ponytail. He knelt at the wall of shelves, sorting through a few jars.

“Ah--no?” Shiro said.

Keith paused in his inspections and looked over his shoulder. His dark, almond eyes blinked once in surprise from behind wire-rimmed, rectangular glasses, then he turned back to his work.

_ Since when does he wear glasses? _ Shiro wondered.

“Didn’t peg you as the tattoo type,” Keith commented, pulling a jar down and comparing it beside one already in his hands. “Girlfriend’s name? Someone’s birthday?”

Shiro blinked and a chuckle escaped him unbidden. Some of the tension faded from his shoulders.

“No, nothing like that,” he said.

“I hope you’ve got a reference, whatever it is,” said Keith. 

He placed both bottles back on the shelf and straightened up, brushing his hands over his clothes. Shiro bit his lip and looked away from the dark skinny jeans that fit just a little  _ too _ well.

“Yeah, right here,” he said, fumbling to pull the picture out of his jacket. 

Keith reached out with a leather-gloved hand and retrieved the page. Where their fingers brushed Shiro felt a spark of static. Keith said nothing of it and unfolded the picture, scanning it with a critical gaze.

“I hope you don’t have any other plans today,” Keith said, lips twitching up at the corners. “This is going to be quite the project.”

“Nope, it’s my day off,” Shiro answered, smiling in response to Keith.

“And where do you want this?” Keith asked. “I’m guessing your back?”

“Yeah. That predictable, huh?”

Keith waved away Shiro’s chagrin, and his eyes gleamed with a spark of excitement.

“Based on the design, there’s only so many places it would fit well,” Keith said. He pointed to the chair. “Lose the shirt and lay on your stomach.”

Shiro nodded, but it took him a moment to realize that Keith meant immediately. Heat crept across his cheeks at the amused glint in the man’s dark eyes and he hastily pulled his shirt over his head, praying that it didn’t get caught on his prosthetic and make him look like more of a fool. Thankfully it came off easily and Keith took it from him, turning to fold it and set it on an empty table. This left Shiro to stare at the chair leerily.

“It’s not gonna bite,” Keith said, moving past him to the door and guiding it closed.

Ducking his head in chagrin, Shiro shuffled forward and laid down obediently, wincing at the cold leather against his skin. He propped his chin up on the seat so he could watch Keith fiddle with a small cone-shaped object at the table in the corner.

“The incense?” Shiro guessed. Keith glanced back at him and nodded.

“Helps me focus,” he said. “And it’ll help you relax. Any requests?”

“I don’t know anything about that sort of stuff,” Shiro confessed. “Whatever you pick is fine.”

Keith didn’t answer. He brushed the remains of the last cone he’d been burning into a garbage bin and sat a new one down. It was a dark mahogany color, and Shiro found himself curious and maybe even excited to find out what it was. Digging a lighter out of his pocket Keith ignited the tip of the cone, blowing gently to set it smoldering but avoiding a full flame. A warm, familiar smell wafted toward Shiro.

“Can you tell what it is?” Keith asked, straightening up and smirking.

Shiro frowned, nostrils flaring as he sniffed the air. It reminded him of the holidays, something sweet and heady.

“It smells like cinnamon,” Shiro said slowly. “And...something else.”

“Cinnamon and cloves,” Keith said, nodding. “You were halfway there. Unfortunately, fifty percent is still a failing grade.”

“Bummer,” Shiro snorted. 

Keith’s smirk grew and he walked around the chair to a stool that sat beside it. From there Shiro could no longer see him, but he could hear him getting his tools ready.

“I need to sterilize the area first,” Keith said. “This might be a little cold.”

Oh, it was more than a  _ little _ cold. Shiro yelped as Keith started massaging what he could only identify as refrigerated goop onto the skin of his upper back. There was an unmistakable chuckle from above him and he bit his lip, hiding his blush in the chair.

“I warned you,” Keith laughed.

It wasn’t long before the temperature of whatever Keith was rubbing into his back warmed to something more tolerable. However, Shiro almost wished it hadn’t, because without that discomfort he was left uncomfortably aware of Keith’s slim, soft hands sliding over his skin, almost stroking. The incense, as Keith had predicted, eased some of the tension in his muscles, but it just made him more aware of the contact. He’d removed his fingerless gloves so his palms were bare against Shiro’s shoulderblades. His head felt warm and light, a smell like apple pie filling his senses. When his touch disappeared Shiro just barely bit back a noise of disappointment that would have left him mortified.

A warm, damp cloth was next, wiping away the excess of whatever Keith had spread. Then the stool squeaked as he sat in it, and Shiro tensed. Keith placed a reassuring hand on his shoulder.

“If you’re having second thoughts, now’s the time to speak up,” he said calmly.

“That’s not it,” Shiro assured him. “I’m just a little nervous, that’s all.”

“I know. I can’t promise it won’t hurt or that it’ll be over before you know it,” Keith sighed. “You’re just gonna have to be tough. That’s quite the design you’re getting.”

Shiro just sighed and tried to forcibly relax his muscles.

“What I can tell you is that I’m a pro at my job,” Keith continued. “And it’ll be fine. If you need me to stop, just tell me and I will. Alright?”

_ Not the most friendly? _ Shiro wondered, turning his head so he could see the tattoo artist out of the corner of his eye. The man had his back to him at the moment, black ink peeking from beneath the collar of his shirt.

Maybe Keith wasn’t exactly bubbly, but he was a far cry from unfriendly like Rolo had suggested. He didn’t mince his words in an attempt to comfort Shiro, which was fine because in this sort of business, it was best to hear a blunt truth rather than tactful white lies. Still, he was reassuring in his own way partially because of his honesty and partially because of his voice. It was soft, soothing, and he seemed entirely unaware of that.

“Alright,” Shiro murmured, turning his head away before Keith could look at him. 

“I’m going to start,” Keith said, touching his shoulder again. “Ready?”

“As I’ll ever be,” was Shiro’s answer.

“You’re in for a long day.”


	3. What's Your Sign?

Several hours and more than a couple breaks later, Shiro was slumped in a chair at a local cafe and nursing a mug of house coffee. His back stung and his muscles ached from being the same position for so long, and the short breaks Keith and he took together were barely enough for him to stretch out and get a cup of water before they were back at it. He might have complained, but he’d known coming in that his request was nigh unreasonable and that Keith was working his fingers stiff to meet it. Despite that, the tattooist didn’t utter a word of complaint the entire time he worked. In fact, he barely spoke at all. The only sound that filled the room for the most part was the hum of the needle as it moved across Shiro’s skin.

At one point Keith had asked Shiro if he wanted some music, but he shook his head. The drone of Keith’s tools was soothing in a way and he didn’t want to risk breaking the peaceful atmosphere in the room. Twice Keith had to renew the incense, which was fine by Shiro because it smelled wonderful and it did help him to relax. There were even a couple of times where he could almost believe he was dozing off.

“Since when did you start wearing glasses?” Shiro asked the man sitting across the table from him.

Keith’s shift had actually ended before he finished Shiro’s tattoo, but he had insisted on staying until he saw the job through. After that, they were both tired and in desperate need of caffeine, so Keith had clocked out and invited Shiro to join him at a nearby coffee shop. He’d been all too eager to accept, as excited for the chance to spend some time away from work with Keith as he was to get some caffeine.

Keith looked at Shiro over the top of his cup of tea, one eyebrow cocked. He’d left his ponytail in place after work, though stray bits fell out to frame his slender face, but he’d stowed his glasses as soon as the job was done. Over his t-shirt he wore an old burgundy hoodie that looked a trifle small for him.

“A few years,” he said with a shrug. “They’re readers. My eyesight’s usually fine, I just have trouble seeing up close. For everyday stuff it wouldn’t be a big deal, but with my job…”

“Makes sense,” Shiro said, nodding.

They lapsed into silence. Keith took another sip of tea and Shiro took a swig of his coffee. It was strong, but not too bitter, and after a packet of sugar it was perfect. The cafe was quiet with soft ambient music playing at a low volume and few other customers that sat quietly at their own tables playing with phones or reading a book.

“This place is nice,” Shiro commented. “I wish I’d known about it before.”

“Yeah, it’s a good place to relax,” Keith agreed. “If you’re hungry, they make some pretty good sandwiches.”

Shiro sipped again, cursing his conversation skills. He’d been trying to work up the courage to ask his mysterious customer out for a coffee for ages, with Hunk’s full encouragement, yet there he was now and he had nothing to say. Thankfully Keith didn’t seem particularly perturbed by the silence. On the contrary, he seemed quite content to sit back in his chair and cradle his chai between long-fingered hands, closing his eyes and listening to the music. It was such a peaceful picture that Shiro had difficulty acknowledging it as real.

Despite what Rolo had said about Keith, he seemed to Shiro to be quite sociable, if in a more subtle way. He wasn’t incredibly talkative like Lance, but neither was he cold or rude. As he’d been working on Shiro’s back, he had occasionally asked questions. How long had Shiro owned the little herb store? What did he do when he wasn’t working? If it wasn’t too personal, why had he decided to get a tattoo? Why that design specifically? It had been nice, and he’d answered the questions that Shiro asked easily, if not in detail. Which reminded Shiro…

“You have a tattoo on your back, don’t you?” he asked, recalling the ink peeking from beneath his shirt. Keith’s eyes blinked open to meet his and he nodded. “What is it, if you don’t mind my asking?”

“It’s the planetary alignment from the day I was born,” Keith said. “With a little flair thrown in, obviously. Took forever to find it.”

Shiro stared.

“That’s amazing,” he said in awe. “So, you like space, then?”

Keith snorted and Shiro realized how juvenile his question had sounded. Before he could take it back Keith waved off his concern.

“You could say that, yeah,” he said, lips curved in a smirk. “I’m really into astrology.”

“Astrology?” Shiro repeated. “Like...the zodiacs?”

Keith nodded.

“Zodiacs, planetary influence, rising stars and moon phases, all of that,” he elaborated. “Every part of a person is influenced by the stars.”

At a loss for words, Shiro just gave an owlish blink. It was a fascinating way to look at the world and at people that Shiro hadn’t really thought about. Sure, he knew about zodiacs and the supposed traits associated with each one, but he’d never given it much thought. Not to mention the way Keith said it, something so profound it sounded like it had been taken from a book of classic poems but said so casually that it must have been accidental. It sounded almost magical.

Under Shiro’s thoughtful gaze, Keith’s cheeks gradually darkened and he fidgeted in his chair, eyes flicking between his companion and the mug in his hands. For the sake of something to do, Keith raised the mug to his lips. Shiro realized a beat too late that he was staring rather intensely at the man and flushed in embarrassment.

“Sorry,” he said. “That’s just...it’s interesting.”

Keith paused. Then he hesitantly lowered his mug so Shiro could see his cautious smile.

“You think so?” he wondered. “Most people think it sounds like a pile of shit.”

Shiro shook his head vehemently, forgetting his embarrassment in favor of curiosity.

“No, I mean it,” he said. “I never really thought about it, but it doesn’t sound stupid at all. What do you mean, exactly?”

There was a moment where Shiro thought he’d said something wrong. Keith just stared at him as if he were a new species of animal and was trying to decide what to name him. Then, much to Shiro’s surprise, Keith smiled a full, blindingly white grin that set a cloud of butterflies fluttering through his chest. The man, oblivious to his sudden flustered state, leaned forward with his elbows on the table, still holding his tea in its pale blue mug.

“Well...I’ll start simple,” Keith said, setting his cup down. “You know the astrological zodiacs, I’m guessing?”

“Like Capricorn and Leo and all those?” Shiro checked. “Yeah, I know those.”

“So those are a sort of baseline for a person’s...uh, personality, I guess,” Keith said. “There are twelve zodiacs, each with a particular set of characteristics. Obviously they’re not to the tee, because everyone’s different, but it’s a place to start if you want a general idea of a person.”

“Okay…” Shiro said, nodding to show he was following.

“I’m guessing you’re an air sign,” Keith said. “Since you seem pretty open and you’re obviously interested in learning. It’s a more intellectual element.”

“Wait, I thought we were talking about zodiacs?” Shiro said with a frown.

“We are. Each zodiac sign is connected with an element,” Keith said. “And if I had to guess...I’d say your sign is Libra. Right?”

“Uh...y-yeah,” Shiro said. “How…?”

Keith grinned in a self-satisfied sort of way.

“Each element has three signs associated with it,” Keith said. “For air, it’s Gemini, Libra, and Aquarius. Aquarians tend to be huge humanitarians, big ideas and all about making the world a better place. That could’ve fit you, except that they also tend to get impatient and kind of eccentric about their interests, and you seem a bit too down to earth for that. Geminis are kinda the same deal--they’re usually pretty out there, and a lot of the times they’re wishy-washy; not good at making decisions. They’re not the type to get tattoos so much as they are the type to talk about getting tattoos.”

Keith cut himself off rather abruptly, pink dusting his cheeks again.

“Ah, sorry,” he mumbled. “I, uh, get a little too into--”

“No, no, it’s fine,” Shiro said quickly, waving his arms in front of him. “It’s really interesting, please don’t apologize.”

Keith’s lips quirked up.

“So, why did you decide on Libra?” Shiro continued. Keith’s eyes sparkled.

“Libras are usually pretty calm,” he said. “It’s at Libra where the signs start to change from an individual focus to a focus on the individual’s interactions with their environment. Obviously they’re considered well-balanced, since they’re represented by scales. Libras are all about teamwork and sociability, but ultimately they want to keep a sort of equilibrium, objectively doing what’s best for everyone. The main problem they have is that by trying to keep everyone happy and avoid conflict, they tend to come across as fickle people-pleasers. Still, they’re about as polite as it gets in the zodiac. No offense, but you definitely come across as a pushover.”

Shiro didn’t know whether to grin and thank Keith or duck his head in embarrassment. It was true that he wasn’t much for confrontation and he liked to make everybody happy, but he’d never considered himself a pushover. Still, he supposed there were worse things to be than overly polite.

“What’s your sign?” he asked.

“Ah--mine?” Keith blurted, eyes widening slightly.

“Yeah,” Shiro said, leaning forward.

The color in Keith’s cheeks darkened and he glanced down at the table.

“It’s Aries,” he said.

“That’s the ram, right?” Shiro asked.

Keith nodded, lips still curved.

“So...I’m gonna hazard a guess that that’s a fire sign?”

“Good guess,” Keith congratulated, tone dry. “I’d applaud you, but I think that’s a pretty easy leap to make.”

Shiro didn’t let the sarcasm get to him. It was pretty clear that Keith didn’t mean anything by it.

“What are some qualities of Aries?” Shiro asked. Keith arched an eyebrow at him.

“What, no guesses?” he challenged.

That earned a nervous sort of chuckle from Shiro, who wasn’t sure he was familiar enough with Keith or the topic to come up with anything worthwhile. However Keith was watching him with an expression of interest, and since the man already seemed to consider him the eager-to-please sort he figured he had nothing to lose by giving it a shot. So, giving an anxious sigh, Shiro sat back in his chair and tried to think.

“Well, the first thing that comes to mind is blunt,” he said honestly. “You don’t really seem like someone that beats around the bush. You’re pretty confident, too. You probably get called arrogant sometimes, I bet.”

Keith bowed his head in acknowledgement, giving Shiro more confidence to continue.

“You seem like someone that might have a lot of unfinished projects?” Shiro guessed. Keith made a face and he laughed. “I’m just guessing there. Rolo said you don’t like doing things in parts, so I figured that might be because you lose motivation if you take a break after starting something.”

“Rolo…” Keith groaned, pinching the bridge of his nose between his thumb and forefinger. “You’re not wrong, but c’mon. What is it with that guy and telling random clients about me when I’m not around?”

“I think that’s probably a reasonable thing to do if you’re going to be giving them tattoos,” Shiro reasoned. “Probably best that they know how you approach your work, don’t you think?”

“Whatever,” Keith grumbled. “Anything else?”

“Well, you seem like kind of a free spirit,” Shiro said, wary of touching a nerve. “Like you mostly do your own thing. And you’re really passionate about your interests.”

The calculating gaze Keith gave Shiro sent goosebumps erupting down the back of his neck and arms. It was like the man could see right through him.

“Not bad,” he said, nodding approvingly. “Aries are to the point, start more things than they finish, and they’re fairly independent. We also tend to be opinionated and competitive, and we enjoy breaking new ground. A challenge is always welcome, too.”

“You said the zodiacs were just like scratching the surface, though,” Shiro pointed out.

“Believe me, we don’t have time for me to lay it all out for you before this place closes up,” Keith chuckled. “It gets pretty wild.”

“That’s too bad,” Shiro sighed. “It’s fascinating. I’ve studied the stars and planets in astronomy, but never like that.”

This earned him another of those strange, searching looks. He wondered if Keith even realized he was doing it or if he was oblivious to the intensity of his stare. After a moment, Keith leaned back and crossed his arms over his chest.

“If...if you’re really interested…” he said hesitantly. “We could, um, I could take you to my place. I’ve got all kinds of books and charts. You could take a look at them; they probably explain it better than I could anyway.”

Time stopped for Shiro. Was...was Keith seriously inviting him over to his home? Was he honestly offering to show Shiro where he lived just because he’d shown some interest in a topic he knew a lot about?

“Unless that makes you uncomfortable,” Keith said quickly. “Doesn’t really matter to me either way, I just figured if you were interested, you could--”

“I’d love to!” Shiro blurted. 

Keith went silent so abruptly it was as if Shiro had pressed a mute button on him. His dark eyes were wide, and his lips parted slightly.

“Alright,” he said, the corners of his eyes crinkling.

For some reason, Shiro got the feeling that this wasn’t a common occurrence for Keith; the offer to take someone to his home or the emphatic affirmative. When Keith pushed his chair back and stood Shiro followed, trying not to look like an eager school kid despite the fact that he felt like exactly that. He felt like a freshman again, walking into his astronomy class for the first time and wondering how deeply they were going to explore space. However, he also felt like a high school first year going on his first date, and despite everything telling him there was no reason to be awkward or afraid, his fingers might still have trembled just a bit.

“Should I drive you?” Keith asked.

“If you don’t mind,” Shiro said, rubbing the back of his neck. “I actually walked from home, so…”

“Okay.”

Shiro followed Keith out into the evening air, blinking up at the sun hanging low in the sky. It’d be dark by the time he started home. Not that he was worried about himself, but he hoped Keith wouldn’t feel obligated to drive him back after such a long day.

“My car’s kind of a mess,” Keith said, starting back toward Altean Ink. “But the passenger seat should be clear.”

“No worries,” Shiro said with a small smile. “My truck collects more clutter than should be physically possible.”

“That so?” Keith said wryly.

“Yep. It’s a disaster area,” Shiro confirmed.

They lapsed into silence and Shiro found himself trying to get another glimpse of the back of his neck. Unfortunately the hood of his jacket paired with the shaggy hair escaping his ponytail completely obscured the view and left Shiro aching with curiosity. The only thing he could see was the slow roll of Keith’s shoulders as he stalked down the sidewalk, the way they hunched slightly when the man tucked his hands into his jacket pockets.

“So, uh,” Shiro said, the silence chafing. Keith jumped slightly, then glanced over his shoulder at him without slowing down. “Are there any roommates I should be worried about? Anyone that might worry about you bringing some guy home so late?”

It could have been his imagination, but he thought he saw Keith’s lips twitch at his implication. The man turned his face away again and shook his head.

“I live alone,” Keith said. “The only person that ever shows up at my place wouldn’t care if I brought home a grizzly bear, anyway. But as far as I know they’re not coming over.”

“As far as you know?” Shiro wondered. Keith snorted.

“Pidge invites themself over whenever they feel like it,” he informed Shiro. “I usually get about ten minutes notice, if I get any at all.”

“Wait, Pidge?” Shiro said, blinking. “As in Pidge Holt?”

“That’s the one,” Keith nodded. “They’re one of your regulars, right?”

“Yeah…” Shiro said in amazement. “But you know her too?”

“Them,” Keith said, tone hardening a fraction. “And yeah.”

“Them? But--it’s just Pidge, she--”

“ _ They _ ,” Keith said more vehemently.

Shiro frowned at the back of Keith’s head.

“Why they?” Shiro wondered.

“Because Pidge is nonbinary,” Keith answered. “And those are the pronouns they prefer.”

“But s--they haven’t said anything about it to me,” Shiro said. “I’ve been calling Pidge  _ her _ and Pidge hasn’t corrected me.”

“They usually don’t find it worth the time or effort,” Keith said. “I’m not as easy-going about it.”

“I see…” Shiro murmured. “I guess I owe them an apology the next time they come in, huh?”

There was no doubt about it this time; when Keith glanced back at him he  _ definitely  _ smiled and Shiro’s heart swooped like he’d missed a step going down stairs.

“It’s not necessary as long as you start using the correct pronouns,” Keith assured him. “But they’d probably appreciate it.”

Shiro smiled.

“Thanks.”

“Mmhmm.”

“So, is Pidge into astrology as well?”

Keith hesitated, then shrugged his shoulders.

“Yeah,” he said. “If you want to learn more about it, you’d be better served asking them whatever questions you have. 

“I’ve already got you captive,” Shiro said at the cautious tone in Keith’s voice. “I’d rather learn from you anyway. I’ve always loved the stars.”

Keith said nothing in response, but the tips of his ears reddened and Shiro smiled. That was the last they spoke on their walk.


	4. The Room Was Warm

****

Keith’s home was a modest, sand-colored house well removed from the town center. It was one story and the dark front door opened into a shared living room and dining room with an empty doorway leading to a small stainless steel kitchen. A hallway branched off in the other direction, where Shiro assumed the bedrooms and bathrooms would be. The floors were some sort of hardwood that felt rustic but sturdy, and the walls were painted a neutral cedar that gave the place a nice, homey feel. Were it not for the modern lighting and furniture, it could have been a cabin in the wilderness.

As far as furnishings, it was rather sparse: a sofa in the center of the room, an end table sitting next to it, and a TV mounted on the wall opposite. Against the back of the sofa stood a long, low bookcase, and taller versions of it covered a good portion of the wall behind the couch, the one it shared with the kitchen. The only decorations were framed pictures, some of space and some of diagrams or charts that Shiro couldn’t make heads or tails of.

The room was warm. It created the perfect atmosphere for curling up with a good book on a rainy day. Currently Shiro was flipping through one of the books Keith had pulled down for him while Keith sat next to him, idly scrolling through his phone entirely at ease. This one was relatively thin and focused on compatibility between zodiac signs, a fact that Shiro pretended to ignore as he plucked it from the pile first. It was interesting, even barring his ulterior motives. The book broke down the signs’ aspects and showed how they could complement or clash with the traits of other signs. It also addressed the different ways that relationships between certain signs could grow and change, some burning quickly and brightly while others built more steadily over time.

Shiro turned the page and found a two-page diagram of the planetary movements. It highlighted the spots where certain planets aligned and clearly displayed each constellation’s position in relation to them. Seeing this, however, reminded Shiro of a different planet chart, one he hadn’t actually seen. He glanced over at Keith, eyes on the back of his neck even though it was covered by his now loose hair.

“Is this like your tattoo?” Shiro asked, pointing at the diagram.

Keith paused and looked over at the book.

“Kind of the same idea,” he said. “But way different placement.”

“Right, I was just curious,” Shiro said, nodding. Before he could turn back to the book, Keith reached over and tugged it out of his hands.

“Do you want to see?”

As usual, Keith’s expression was honest. He wasn’t in the least uncomfortable with the idea, and Shiro wasn’t one to pass up an opportunity, but he had to swallow twice before he could respond.

“Uh, sure,” he said. “Yeah, that’d be cool.”

Without another word Keith stood up and turned away from Shiro. His gloved hands reached back and grasped the collar of his shirt, tugging it over his head in one smooth motion. The material pooled carelessly on the floor, but he didn’t seem inclined to pick it up, letting Shiro take in the entirety of his smooth, fair back.

The sun hung in the middle, the planets orbiting smooth skin instead of vast space. Dotted lines traced each planet’s path around the sun, not perfectly round like children’s books but more accurately elongated. It was done in black save for Mars, whose deep blood-red stood in stark contrast with its pale backdrop. There was only one thing Shiro didn’t recognize on this chart. Each planet, after being graced with its own appearance, was decorated by an unfamiliar symbol that stood solid and black in its center. As was the sun.

“What are these marks in the planets?” Shiro asked, reaching out to touch one before thinking better of it.

Keith glanced around at him, perhaps noticing his movement, then shrugged his shoulders.

“They’re the symbols for each planet,” he answered. “You’ll probably recognize a couple of them.”

Frowning, Shiro leaned in closer. His eyes were automatically drawn to Mars, maybe because of the color but more likely because the symbol there was indeed familiar. It was simple, a circle with an arrow protruding from it at an upwards angle.

“This is the symbol for male,” he said. “On Mars.”

“Yeah. If you go back to Ancient Rome, Mars was worshipped as the god of war and later he was considered the height of masculinity. Farther back was Ancient Greece, and his name was Ares.”

“Like your zodiac?” Shiro said in surprise. “So Mars is like…”

“My ruling planet,” Keith nodded. “That’s why it’s the only one that’s in color.”

“That’s...really cool,” Shiro breathed, wishing he had something more intelligent to offer than these praises he kept blurting like word vomit. 

Keith didn’t mind. When he felt like Shiro had seen enough of him shirtless, he pulled his t-shirt back over his head and smoothed it down.

“So, this kind of stuff,” Shiro said when Keith turned back toward him on the couch. “Is it all based in Greek and Roman mythology? Or religion?”

The way Keith’s lips tightened made Shiro uneasy. He hadn’t thought he’d said anything particularly prying, certainly not offensive, but that was an expression generally reserved for uncomfortable questions and being hit on by strangers. Keith’s eyes flicked away.

“These sorts of things were definitely  _ prominent _ in old religions like that,” Keith said slowly. “Astronomy and astrology were integral to Pagan societies.”

“Ah. So, are you Pagan, then?” Shiro wondered. 

The open curiosity in his voice drew Keith’s gaze back to him, eyebrows raised and lips parted ever so slightly. Clearly he wasn’t used to the topic being received well.

“Ah--no. No, I’m not religious,” he answered. He hesitated, scrutinizing Shiro, and his jaw worked silently as if sorting through words. “It’s...it’s a bit more complicated than that.”

Shiro tilted his head to one side. Recognizing the request, Keith sighed.

“Paganism is kind of a blanket term,” he started, brow furrowed in concentration. “The Ancient Greeks would be considered Pagan, Ancient Egyptians, y’know, old polytheistic societies. In general Paganism works the same as Christianity: there’s a lot of ‘subclasses,’ for lack of a better term. For example, there’s Heathens, Wiccans--”

“Wicca is like witchcraft, right?” Shiro interjected. Keith shook his head.

“Wicca is a more well-known Pagan sect,” he said. “And yeah, Wiccans are known for practicing the Craft, but not all of them do. It’s more about their relationship with their patron deities. Witchcraft is more about a person’s individual, direct connection with nature.”

“Okay…” Shiro said, nodding as he processed it. “And I’m guessing there are different kinds of witchcraft, too?”

“Yeah, that’s right,” Keith said, and that passionate light flickered back on in his eyes, making Shiro’s heart thump painfully in his chest. “Some witches just kind of do a little bit of everything, but there are sea witches that focus on water-based magic, witches that lean towards hexes and curses--”

“Witches that focus on astrological magic?” Shiro suggested.

The suddenness with which Keith fell mute was almost comical. It was as if someone had pressed the  _ pause _ button on him because he froze exactly as he was, hand suspended in the air in front of him and his mouth still open around his explanation. Wide eyes and pale cheeks were all the clues that Shiro needed to infer that Keith had borne no intention of giving himself away, and in his chest Shiro felt a pang of guilt. 

He could guess that it wasn’t an easy topic. Christianity had effectively demonized the very idea of witchcraft even to the modern day, so much so that many deemed it synonymous with Satanism. While Shiro was far from an expert on such things, he had taken a religious studies class in college that had actually covered a wide variety of belief systems, including Paganism and the many,  _ many _ misunderstandings of it, so he knew the basics of what it was and what it was not. Judging by the shock and unease that had stolen the excited glow from Keith’s expression, Shiro figured Keith was waiting for the classic demon-worship rebuttal. After all, talking about things in theory was much easier than addressing them as real.

“Hey, don’t worry,” Shiro said, clasping Keith’s shoulder with his good hand. “It’s fascinating, even if I don’t really understand it.”

The room was warm. Keith blinked up at him, the furrows between his eyebrows deepening. Shiro just patiently patted his shoulder and then returned both of his hands to his lap, watching as the wheels in Keith’s head spun like a merry-go-round. Whether he was trying to detect any kind of insincerity in Shiro’s voice or simply process that Shiro wasn’t about to start screeching about his Hell-bound soul was anybody’s guess, but after a moment he offered a cautious smile.

“So...Pidge,” Shiro said after a moment. Keith stiffened again. “Are they a witch as well?”

Keith hesitated, eyes raking Shiro’s face for any sign that he shouldn’t share. Then he shrugged and leaned back against the couch.

“Yeah. They’ve got it down to a science.”

“Seems like kind of an oxymoron,” Shiro commented. Keith snorted.

“Magic and science aren’t that different,” Keith said with a shake of his head. “Pidge’s brand is more like alchemy, anyway, which was the mother of modern medicine, so…”

“What do you do, then?” Shiro prompted, leaning over to bump their shoulders together.

“Um...I--For spells, I’ll invoke planetary powers?” Keith mumbled. “Like, if I wanted to cast a spell for luck while traveling, I’d channel power from Mercury. But each planet has positions of power, so it’s best to make the most of those…” 

“Positions of power?” Shiro echoed. “Is that just where they are in the sky?”

“More or less,” Keith nodded. “If I did that traveling spell while Mercury was in a position of power, it would make the spell much stronger than if it was in some random spot.”

“There’s a lot of star and planet charts involved with this, isn’t there?” Shiro asked, looking over at the bookcases behind them. There were numerous books on astronomy, anything from university textbooks to little hand-out pamphlets that might’ve come from a public planetarium.

“Yeah,” Keith chuckled. “It’s a little more work than some forms of witchcraft, but it’s just...It’s just what called to me. People have predispositions for certain types of magic, energies that they feel reacting more strongly than others. Heavenly body magic does that for me. Sorry, that probably doesn’t make sense.”

“No, I think I get it,” Shiro said with a shake of his head. “It’s like the thing in Harry Potter, ‘the wand chooses the wizard.’”

Keith’s lips twitched.

“Yeah, I guess that works,” he acknowledged. “Although Harry Potter isn’t exactly an accurate depiction of most spellwork.”

“It’s a fantasy series,” Shiro pointed out in amusement.

“I know, but still, it gets a little irritating,” Keith complained. “Imagine, people finding out you’re a witch and demanding that Amortentia thing from the movies. No amount of explaining that love potions don’t work like that can convince them to lay off.”

“Wait, so love potions are actually real?”

Keith gave him a cagey look.

“In a manner of speaking,” he answered cautiously. At Shiro’s obvious confusion, he sighed. “Love potions are...well, they don’t make  _ real _ love. And it’s not immediate or obvious, it’s...it’s more like persuasion, I guess? More subtle.”

“Have you…” Shiro said, mouth suddenly dry. He cleared his throat. “Have you ever...used one before?”

It was as if Shiro had uttered some horrendously offensive curse. Keith’s face twisted like the gnarled bark of an old oak and Shiro was torn between concern and laughter.

“No,” Keith growled. “Manipulating someone into having feelings for you? Only the worst witches would do something like that. It’s basically taking someone’s free will away, and for what? It’s not even true love if they’d leave as soon as they stopped taking the potion. You’d just be lying to both of you.”

Shiro couldn’t help it; he let out a soft chuckle. He reached out and caught Keith’s hand, which curled and uncurled into a fist on his thigh, and smoothed his thumb over his knuckles. He didn’t think about the action. If he had, he would never have been able to bring himself to do it. As it was, Keith’s eyes flicking between Shiro’s face and their hands was enough to make his neck grow warm. On the plus side the disgusted look on Keith’s face slipped away to something gentler, more speculative.

The room was warm. Shiro had noticed upon entering, but it was only really striking him now that he was under Keith’s burning gaze. They were sitting so close that their shoulders and hips brushed. When Keith fidgeted, his knee bumped Shiro’s. There was a faint smell of spice hanging in the air, not unlike the incense Keith had been burning at the tattoo parlor, and Shiro wondered idly if it still clung to both of them.

In the soft lighting of the main room, Keith’s skin glistened and his eyes glowed like backlit amber. His thick lashes cast long shadows on his cheeks when he blinked. 

“You know,” Shiro murmured, gaze drifting dangerously. “You don’t need magic potions or love spells, anyway.”

“Well, no one d--”

“Can I kiss you?”

The words were out before Shiro knew they were hanging on his tongue, then all he could do was hold his breath. Hopefully he didn’t come across as too forward--he expected Keith was the type to pull back if he moved too close too quickly. He hadn’t even known what possessed him to say it, only that he knew better than to lean in without warning. Keith’s hand twitched and Shiro moved to release it. However, those slim fingers tightened around his, preventing escape. Startled, Shiro looked down at their linked hands and then back to Keith.

The room was warm. Keith’s gaze made him feel even warmer and their palms pressed together hummed with heat. The man against his side shifted slightly, turning toward him and tilting his chin up, eyes heavy-lidded and smoldering like embers of a campfire.

“Maybe you’re magic, but I’m not,” Shiro said softly, leaning down just a fraction until their noses almost touched. “I can’t read your mind, so you’ll have to answer out loud.”

“I can’t read minds either,” Keith argued, but his tone was distracted.

Shiro raised his prosthetic to Keith’s shoulder, squeezing through his thin black t-shirt.

“Well?” Shiro prompted.

The tip of Keith’s tongue darted out to wet his lips, and his dark eyes flicked down somewhere below Shiro’s nose. His hand squeezed Shiro’s a little more firmly. Words seemed to be beyond Keith, but after a shaky breath, he nodded once. Smiling in victory, Shiro closed the distance and watched as Keith’s eyes fluttered shut. Then their lips slotted together.

It wasn’t earth-shattering. There were no fireworks. The planets didn’t align and the stars didn’t blaze for the moment. It wasn’t big and loud and intense, an all-consuming blaze of passion that spurred them on, harder and faster and deeper. It was better. 

As Shiro’s hand slid from Keith’s shoulder to the side of his neck, cradling his jaw, Keith’s empty hand caught his elbow and simply hung there. Their touches were shy and careful, lips closed and Keith’s slightly damp. Their noses sat snugly against each other for the barest hint of a moment, and then it was over and Shiro leaned back, eyes half-lidded and drinking in Keith’s flushed cheeks and closed eyes. Then he kissed him again, and again, a dozen soft brushes of lips and they were both a little breathless, but neither minded much.

The room was warm. It was warm, but Keith’s lips still felt like they were burning Shiro, the hands sliding to his shoulders searing through his t-shirt. At this point, Keith took the lead and pushed in more firmly, fingers bunching the material around Shiro’s shoulders and mouth hard against his. He shifted closer on the sofa and Shiro accommodated, dropping Keith’s hand to wrap his arm around his waist and pull him in. That smell filled Shiro’s senses again, warm and heady.

When they parted it took Keith a moment to open his eyes again. Shiro enjoyed the sight of him, lips dark and swollen and slightly parted, eyes hazy when they struggled open. He was greeted with a cautious smile that quickly evolved into embarrassed laughter, and Shiro continued to stare as Keith flopped back against the arm of the sofa, shaking his head and raking a hand through his hair.

“What’s funny?” Shiro wondered.

“Nothing, really,” Keith snorted. “Just--if I didn’t know better, I’d think  _ you _ were working some kind of magic on me.”

Shiro raised his hands in front of him, his smile beginning to hurt his cheeks.

“Nope, no magic here,” he said. “One hundred percent boring person here.”

Keith raised an eyebrow at him.

“Now I know you’re lying,” he said. “You’re definitely not boring.”

“Thanks.”

Silence. Then:

“You can take my couch for the night.”

Shiro whipped around. Keith had gotten to his feet and was stretching his arms over his head. It took conscious effort not to let his gaze wander to the couple inches of lean abdomen the movement exposed.

“Uh, that’s really not--”

“I’m not driving you anywhere in the middle of the night,” Keith said, glancing over at him. “And you’re not walking anywhere in the middle of the night.”

Shiro chuckled.

“I can handle myself, walking is no problem,” he promised, but Keith gave him a look that could wilt flowers. “Or I could claim your couch for the night.”

Keith nodded and let his arms fall to his sides.

“I can probably find some sweats for you to change into,” he said, gaze roving over Shiro’s frame and bringing a blush to his face yet again. 

_ He definitely doesn’t realize he’s doing that,  _ Shiro decided. Keith was too sincere, and there was no sign that he was trying to earn a reaction or make Shiro uncomfortable.

“Ah--that’d be nice. Thanks,” Shiro said, ducking his head.

“No problem.”

The room was warm. They hesitated for a beat, then Keith ducked into the hallway and left Shiro alone. He leaned back against the couch, subconsciously reaching up to brush his fingers across his curved lips. This was certainly not how he had foreseen his evening going when he walked into that tattoo parlor earlier, but it was a surprise he was more than happy with.

“They might be a little small,” Keith said, re-emerging into the living room with a bit of folded black material in his hands. “But they should fit alright.”

Shiro stood and accepted them gratefully. Looking down, he noticed that they were well-worn and clinging to the material were little bits of green that Shiro could only assume had come from the large amounts of herbs Keith bought from him. He smiled at Keith, who smiled back and then pointed him to the bathroom where he could clean up and get changed.

When Shiro emerged, face washed and wearing the borrowed sweatpants that were indeed a little snug but comfortable enough for sleep, he found Keith laying several blankets out on the couch, along with a pillow. The man glanced over at his approach and straightened up, groaning as his back popped.

“Well, I’ve got an early shift tomorrow,” he said. “I’ll try not to wake you in the morning, but no promises.”

“That’s alright,” Shiro chuckled. “I’m an early riser.”

“Perfect. Well, ‘night then,” Keith said, turning back toward the hallway. 

“Night…”

Shiro belly-flopped onto the sofa to avoid any friction against his back, pulled the blankets around him, and reached to the coffee table to flick the lamp off. In the semi-darkness of the apartment, Shiro listened to the hum of electricity and closed his eyes, imagining that it was something else, something more...magical. Maybe it was because of Keith or simply because he was tired, but he found that it wasn’t at all difficult to translate the sound into energy, something that buzzed in the air that, with the right words, could be harnessed. Hugging the pillow to his chest, Shiro felt that energy begin to tug at his consciousness, pulling him deeper into cinnamon and clove scented cushions.

The room was warm.


End file.
